


The W-Files

by artemis822



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis822/pseuds/artemis822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a decade since the Chosen One disappeared after the Battle of Hogwarts...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many similarities that run between two worlds. I'm surprised that no one else has thought of this yet.
> 
> Please let me know what you think.
> 
> I was partly inspired to write this after reading "The Wizard in the Shadows". an excellent Harry Potter/ Lord of the Rings crossover.

**Prologue**

 

* * *

**Battle of Hogwarts: 10th Anniversary**

_By Dennis Creevey_

_Today marks the tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort aka Tom Marvolo Riddle. It has also been a decade since Harry Potter, rumored to be identified as the Chosen One, was last seen by anyone in the Wizarding world. Those that have been close to Potter have remained tight-lipped when questioned over the years about his whereabouts, some even unleashing a barrage of belligerent rant on the reporters inquiring. The members of the Weasely family, as well as Hermione Granger, were unavailable for the most recent round of interviews. As was Andromeda Tonks, mother of Auror Nymphadora Lupin, and grandmother of Theodore Lupin, the son of the late Auror, and Remus Lupin, formerly Hogwarts Professor, and godson of Harry Potter. Contact with his godson is neither confirmed or denied. So the question remains:_

_Where is Harry Potter?_

 


	2. Chapter 1: Name Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to play: Where's Harry?
> 
> Kinda like where's Waldo, but more dangerous.
> 
> Oh, there you are, Harry.

**CH 1 : Name Game**

It was days like this that almost made him miss home. The cold seeped into his bones, making him want to curl up under the covers and never get up. But that wasn't an option; he had slides to sort in his office. He rubbed his hand on his face in an effort to wake himself up. He sat up on the couch, slightly scowling at the pain in his back. He really needed a bed. He stood up, stretching to try to alleviate some of his discomfort, shuffling to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he looked at himself in the mirror. The image that looked back at him was familiar to him, and yet so foreign. The features that distinguished him were hidden by transfiguration, reinforced daily. Like the emerald green eyes, that had often given him away as much as the lightning bolt scar that graced his forehead. Both were hidden, adjusted, until he looked like your average man. His eyes, now a hazel-green, his forehead, unblemished in its appearance As always, his hair didn't fall completely in line, with the cowlick that wouldn't go away, no matter how many times he waved his wand at it. At most, he only maintained the charm that lightened his hair. Hair gel seemed to help tame his hair. Small adjustments on his face, and he was unrecognizable to anyone from his previous life.

His own name was almost alien to him at this point, so long has he answered to his alias. And it was a very disturbed Auror that came up with the name for this alias, even by wizarding standards.

Famous authors aside, who gets named after an animal?

Over the years, he had developed a sense of the universe and when it was about to throw him a curve ball. Probably from all those years of having an insanely powerful megalomaniac demanding his head since his birth.

He had a sense of the world drawing in a breath, waiting to exhale at the right moment. He just hoped the out-coming breath wasn't attached to a Norwegian Ridgeback.


	3. Chapter 2 : Seeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's looking for Harry...
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, and bow down to the superiority of my Lord and Lady, Chris Carter and J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Please enjoy, and comment often!

 

**CH 2**

 

**One week earlier**

A bat-bogey hex heralded her arrival, after the first idiot decided to question her identity. She hadn't had time to remove her disguise, as slight as it might be. Her fiery hair billowed around her as she shuffled hurriedly through the office, though someone else might call it barreling. Brown fire burned through blue contacts as she approached her destination, ignoring the protesting secretary as she slammed open the door.

"Where is he?" she fired at the office's occupant as soon as she entered the space, slamming the door behind her, her robes billowing as her motion came to a stop.

"Good morning to you, too, Auror Weasley. How are you this fine day?" he answered calmly, in a polite, almost dismissive tone. His British accent was a sharp contrast to her altered one.

"Don't screw with me, Perce. Just because you're Minister, doesn't mean I won't hex you!"

"I see your time in the States hasn't done you any favors, Ginny. And I don't appreciate that tone coming from you."

"And I don't appreciate being sent on a wild goose chase by my own brother!" In her ire, her original accent started to bleed through into her words, coming to match her sibling's.

"Searching for possible Dark Wizards from the war in exile wasn't a wild goose chase."

"Oh, so the fact that I was in deep cover in medical school had everything to do with my search. Then there's the fact that the one wizard I want to find, who most certainly isn't Dark, I get diverted with a new mission. And you still haven't answered my original question."

Percy Weasley, Minister of Magic of Great Britain, leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands, sighed, and looked her in the eye, and said, "It's classified."

"Classified can get stuffed! Why can't you give me a straight answer?"

"Ginevra, I am not trying to be difficult. That information was classified 'Ministers Eyes Only', and as part of the oath that I took when I came to this office, I couldn't tell once I knew. I'm sorry."

She nodded brusquely. "Fine, then I'll get help from the highest authority you know." She turned to open the door.

"You wouldn't."

She turned back, crossing her arms, and arching an eyebrow. "Wouldn't I? You wouldn't be able to say no to her."

Percy groaned. "Tattling to Mum because I can't tell you state secrets isn't fair."

"Fair play went out the window five years ago, Perce. Tell me now, or Mum gets a visit from Midnight," she threatened.

"For the last time, I can't tell you. I am magically bound from divulging his whereabouts. It's a  _secret_ ," he said, emphasizing the last word.

Ginny tilted her head, understanding the meaning of his message. "And just who else would  _keep_  this secret?"

A slight smirk formed on her brother's face. "Who else, dear sister, but the brightest witch of our age, and her husband?"

 

* * *

 

After making a pit stop at St. Mungo's, and apologizing to Neville for hexing him hard enough to require medical attention, she hoofed it to Diagon Alley, passing the Leaky Cauldron and headed to the far side, where the flat of her favorite sister-in-law resided.

Her knock was answered quickly, by a redhead, but not a redhead she was seeking particularly. "Hello, Brother Mine."

"Hello, Sister Dear." As a part of her hug, she rubbed her brother's scar on the side of his head, where his ear once was. "What have you been up to?"

"Hunting down idiot wizards who don't know what's best for them."

He smiled. "Ah, this is about  _him_. Well, as I am not the best source for what you seek, I will step aside."

"And enjoy me grilling Ron for the whereabouts of a certain wizard."

He laughed. "Only an added bonus, I assure you."

"Bet you a Knut, I get him red-faced in ten minutes or less."

A voice called to the front room, "Oi, George! What are you doing, letting in a bloody hippogriff parade? Who's at the door?" A second voice can be faintly heard admonishing the first speaker for his language.

"Guess who stopped in for tea?" George called back, prompting the other inhabitants to enter the room.

"Oh Merlin!" Ginny received an enthusiastic hug from her sister-in-law, then her other brother.

"It's so good to see you, Ginny! How have you been?"

"I'm fine, Hermione. How are Hugo and Rose?"

"They're wonderful. I needed a quiet day, so they are spending the day with Grandma."

"Not in Hogwarts yet?"

"Merlin's pants, Gin. They're only two and one year olds. And even though Rose has inherited all of her mother's brains, it's still a bit early yet for her to be catching a ride with Hagrid," Ron interjected, taking his turn with hugging his sister.

A chagrined grimace came over her face. "I guess times running away with me, so much so that I've lost track of family events. I'm sorry."

Hermione curled an arm around her sister-in-law's shoulders, escorting her to the kitchen, leading the rest of the family back from whence they came. "It's quite alright, Ginny. It's the nature of the job. I can't begin to tell you how many dates early on your brother canceled on me due Auror business, or missed events. So don't apologize." Guiding Ginny to one of the seats at the table, she served her the tea that they had been enjoying before her arrival. "Now, why don't you tell me, what brought you to our doorstep, because it wasn't to apologize for neglecting to visit."

Ginny looked at Hermione in surprise. "How did you-"

"You had that look in your eyes; a look I came to be quite familiar with in our Hogwarts days, and right after."

"Will you tell me the truth? I've already grilled Percy; I even threatened to tell Mum to tell me."

Hermione laughed a bit, while Ron sputtered in his tea, coughing to clear the liquid from his throat. "Bloody hell, Gin! Why didn't you just drop in a dragon's keep! It would have been more decent!" George chuckled into his cup as he took a sip.

"I didn't actually do it. If I'd told Mum that I thought Percy had anything to do with Harry's whereabouts, it'd make her duel with Bellatrix look like a Tickle Charm frenzy."

George nodded. "She takes on one of the most evil, insane witches in our history, and suddenly everyone knows what we've been trying to tell them for years."

"Which is?" Hermione asked.

"Where it was we got our tempers from, especially her," Ron concluded, indicating his sister at his last point, which she rewarded with a swift kick in the shins, sending her brother on another cursing fest, one pointedly ignored by his wife, as she turned back to Ginny.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

Hermione sighed, setting down her tea cup. "We wanted to, really we did, but we promised Harry we wouldn't tell anyone, even you. You have to understand, something changed in him between the meeting in Dumbledore's office after the Battle, and next morning.

_"The two of you are the only family I've ever really had, and I love you dearly, but I cannot do this anymore." His tone was sorrowful, his face dejected. Her heart broke her dearest friend, a young man she considered to be a brother in all things but blood._

"When he faced Voldemort that last time, he died. And while he lost that last part of Riddle's soul, he lost a piece of his own as well."

_"I'm tired, 'Mione. There's too much blood, too much death. This can't be my world anymore."_

"Even though Riddle was dead," Ron added, "he knew the battle wasn't really over. He wasn't fighting because he wanted to, but because he had to. And not having the choice tore at him."

_"You're my best mate, Ron. I need you to understand. I have to walk away. Now. Before it's too late."_

"He didn't want to be Chosen. He wanted to choose. He wanted a fight he chose to fight," Ginny said, a slight melancholy seeping into her tone.

_"I've had enough trouble to last a lifetime."_

"He doesn't have the Wand, does he?"

Ron shook his head. "No, he made sure to put it back. He didn't want to go looking for trouble."

Ginny snorted. "He's Harry bloody Potter. Trouble has a  _Point Me_  charm on him."


	4. Chapter 3: Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something wicked this way comes...

 

**CH 3**

 

Though she had the option of International Portkey, Ginny had wanted to take Muggle transportation back to the States. All the Weasely children had inherited their father's fascination with Muggles, some more than others. She loved to observe them, comparing them to the wizarding world. She was often left questioning, aside from magic, where the line really fell between the two worlds. The transition, from her point of view, between magic and Muggle was subtle and seamless. For the newly introduced, the reverse might not be so. Those often left straddling the two worlds, usually muggleborns, and unusually adept wizards, had the greatest success mingling with the Muggles and blending in amongst them.

The flight also had an alternate purpose. It gave her time reconcile her thoughts and prepare for what was coming next.

Her mind drifted back to the rest of the conversation with her family.

 

* * *

 

" _Harry didn't give us much choice in the matter," Hermione sighed, sipping her tea, pausing to organize her thoughts. "He never really has. It's been ingrained in him that all of his decisions need to be made alone, because if he doesn't, it endangers people or get them killed. He carries so much guilt for things that he had no control over, and blames himself for things that aren't his fault." She clasped her hands together in front of her, an expression almost like shame on her face._

_Ron placed a hand over his wife's, trying to convey silent comfort for her. "After the Battle at Hogwarts, we were finally able to see the toll that everything the three of us had gone through, the damage Harry hidden from us all along. We thought it would be best to let him go, away from us, from the Wizarding World. He needed it, more than he needed anything else. We couldn't deny him that."_

_Hermione took back over the story. "We tracked down Kingsley, one of the few Aurors left that we still trusted. He gave Harry a new alias, a deep cover one that had been shelved in the Ministry, due to its long term presence in the Muggle society. We were only given half the information. As a way to protect the secret, two charms were cast. You'll have to talk to Kingsley for the rest."_

_Ginny frowned, mulling over what she'd just been told. Then coming to her decision, she nodded her head. "Ok, what do you have?"_

_Ron looked at his wife, who nodded, mouthing the words 'It's time,' and turned back to his sister, silently agreeing with his wife. "We have the name. In order to find him, you need to look for Fox Mulder."_

 

* * *

 

Ginny rubbed her eyes, mentally checking off the pieces of her disguise that were in place, looking down at the plane ticket in her hands, trying to reabsorb herself back into the alias name listed at her fingertips. She closed her eyes, leaving Ginevra Molly Weasely behind, and becoming once again, Dana Katherine Scully.

 

* * *

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt, former Auror and retired Minister of Magic, rubbed his temples, attempting to rid himself of his headache. As long as he had been with the Ministry, he had never been interrogated, even during the year when Voldemort and his lackeys had been in power. Having escaped that fate, he still ended up on the receiving end years later by one friend in regards to another. As long as he had known the youngest Weasely, he had not seen her temper in action, especially not in his vicinity.

It wasn't like she had cursed him or threatened him. Oh no, that would have been more her brother's tactics. No, she had taken a page out of her mother's book upon entry to his office, and stared him down, waiting for the minute he broke. Molly couldn't have done it any better, and that he could say from experience.

Rarely did he see Ginny, mostly due to her undercover status in the States. She had changed little, at least not growing taller, but she had grown into herself; smart, confident, self-assured, and tough. As much as the war had affected him, he often saw the most damage in the eyes of the younger generation who had grown up with it. The loss of her brother had hurt, but it was the loss of her friend that left those staring into her eyes with shivers down their spines. The ice that had formed around her heart was there in her eyes, whether they were brown or blue.

 

* * *

 

_He sighed, conceding defeat under the weight of her stare. "I had wondered how long it would take you to come see me about him," he said, resting back in his chair, his desk at his back._

_Her agitation began to show, running frustrated fingers through slightly tangled follicles. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" she threw at him, starting a pacing pattern, finally releasing the nervous energy she had held together while she waited for him to speak first._

_He smiled morosely. "You never asked."_

_That set her off. "Never asked? No, I made the bloody mistake of assuming that the people around me that I consider family would be honest with me when I go to seek out the bleeding Boy Who Lived!"_

_He inclined his head, acknowledging her statement. "And if you had just asked where Harry was, rather than the Boy Who Lived, you would have had an answer sooner."_

_Brown fire blazed beneath her eyelids. "You think I care about that, that that's the reason I've been looking for 10 bloody years! That I'm trying to haul him back here to be some sort of savior for us? If that's what you think, then you obviously don't know me as well as I thought you did! I want him to come home to his family! To Ron, and Hermione, and Teddy, and..." She trailed off, leaving the last part unsaid, as if it was a long established stopping point in an argument often repeated. "His godson is about to start Hogwarts, his best mate and sister have two kids, and he was supposed to come back when he was done, he was supposed to come home..."_

" _To you."_

" _To me."_

_He nodded. He knew little about their relationship, other than what he had heard from her family, but he knew that the two of them complemented each other well, especially when fighting together. He remembered the anguished look on Harry's face when he had realized he wouldn't be able to see her again, her name barely a whisper on his tongue._

_That made his decision easy, the looks of matching grief in the eyes of his youngest and most tormented friends. "I don't know where he is."_

" _Ron said you did."_

" _As far as he knew, I would. I activated the alias for Harry, at least the starting point, and second phase. But his whereabouts exactly, I cannot say. I'm not the Secret Keeper."_

_She sighed, defeat weighing down her shoulder as she stood still before him. "Then who is?"_

" _The only other person who would be as fiercely protective of him as you are."_

_Ginny straightened up, triumph lifting her head high, a radiant smile upon her lips._

" _Mum."_

 


	5. Chapter 4: Truth Takes Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey of a thousand begins with a single step, or in this case, a door knock...
> 
> Shall we begin?

**CH 4**

 

His journey was solitary and quiet, as he often went earlier than anyone else, resulting in little traffic congestion for his morning commute. He checked that he had everything he needed. Gun, badge, wand in invisible holster strapped to his arm, rendering it unable to be summoned from his person, keys, sunflower seeds (how he got addicted to the damn things, he'd never know), briefcase, extra clip for the, gun, wallet with check stub in case payroll messed up again. Mental checklist finished, he got out of the car, locking the door behind, and made his way to his office, stopping at the necessary security points, operating on autopilot, as he mentally chewed on the inside of his cheek.

He still felt the hovering cloud, that wasn't quite foreboding or trepidation, but almost bordered on anticipation. He rarely received visitors to his office, and he could only remember that there was some new agent being sent to spy on him, again. He wasn't worried, though. They wouldn't last, they never did.

Reaching his office gave him no reprieve from his thoughts; it only seemed to heighten his awareness. Fate had never done him any favors; he didn't think it would start now. He pushed his troubled musings to the side, focusing on the task at hand, engrossing himself, letting the world fade away, until what was a couple hours later, when he was pulled back by a knock on his office door. The sardonic response that fell from his mouth was unconscious on his part, years of cultivating the persona that was inspired by what he knew of his father and his notorious best friend's attitudes and mannerisms, with a sprinkling of his often least favorite professor's derisive tones.

He looked up from what he was doing at the sound of someone entering his office

A woman entered. She was petite with red hair that made his heart jump into his throat, sharp blue eyes, and a pale complexion. The feeling of dreaded anticipation erupted in his gut. He sensed in her the same background static that existed in the back of his own mind, the sense of Magic. Other than the occasional brush when straying too close to magical communities (Salem came to mind), he had not felt the presence of another witch or wizard since he had left Oxford. And whoever this was definitely didn't fall in the Squib category.

Her forward progress towards him was filtered through a slight daze, his mouth operating on a sardonic autopilot, her name remotely registered, causing him to spew his knowledge of her reputation at her. She returned that she was looking forward to working with him, something he very much doubted, no one did, and that was somewhat deliberate on his part. He still watched over his shoulder for the odd stray Death Eater that may have gotten lucky and wandered close enough to recognize magic. He was going to bide his time to see who this woman really was, though he had his suspicions, and all of them spelled trouble.

He ended their conversation with a litmus test for general skeptic, using an off the cuff remark, that he thought made him sound like a nut but it amused him at the same time. "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?"

 

* * *

 

She was reeling from seeing him again after all this time. She knew he would look different, that he would be disguised like she was, but she still recognized him. No matter what color they were, she would know those eyes anywhere. His distrust of her pricked a bit, but she knew had more to do with the fact he didn't know her, rather than anything else. The accent was as jarring as her own sometimes, her native voice being alien to herself having spent so much time in the States and speaking as they do. She tried not to look for the scar that she knew wouldn't be there, and looking for it might alert him to the fact that she knew who he really was.

She recognized his self-deprecating wit, well-honed at this point in his life. His sarcasm had always been present, lighter and used mostly when provoked, and had been reactionary. Now it was a weapon used with skill, with the capability to cut and not find the wound until it was bleeding profusely. She didn't take it personally. She knew him too well, and knew that he defaulted to an isolatory existence, due to his long established guilt of those that had died to protect him.

A war raged within her even as they bandied back and forth. A part of her wanted to reveal herself right away, greet him as she truly was, and reacquaint themselves, but at the same time she wanted let him be, observe him, see the man he has become after all this time. They were not the same people that they were when he had left, and they would need to readjust to being around each other. Her mind multitasked arguing with herself at the same time as having a conversation with him, and she was aware of the subject of a case that they were going to investigate. His "I guess that's why they put the 'I' in the FBI," faintly registered to her amusement, and agreed to meet up at the airport the next day, going their separate ways.

Her journey back to her apartment was absent-minded. As soon as she hit the door, she started activating her security charms. Once she felt all of them were in place, she sent off a Patronus to Ron and Hermione, with the message "I found him." Then she pulled out a journal. Given her history, she was averse to writing in one, but like the last one, this was enchanted, linked to a book that her mother had in her possession. She tapped her wand on the first page, to alert her mum that she was writing, and went to retrieve a quill specially made for the book. A response came quickly.

**Ginny, it's Mum.**

She rolled her eyes, used to this greeting, as if anyone else would write in the book. It had been a present for her final year at Hogwarts, a way to communicate that could not be intercepted. The loss of one of her children had wounded Molly Weasely deeply, and after she had learned of the full extent of Ginny's sixth year, it was all she could to talk her mother out of not sending her back to school. The charmed journals were the concession. She responded back.

_Hello, Mum._

**How are you, dear? Was your trip alright?**

_It was fine._

**I don't trust those Muggle metal birds.**

_Mum, you have a better chance of getting hit by one of Hagrid's Blast-ended skrewts then crashing in a plane._

**All the same, you should have at least just taken a Portkey.**

_Too much paperwork. The airplane was easier._

**So, what's on your mind dear?**

Ginny paused. To tell or not to tell. Her mum knew she was looking, and had told her where to find him, although receiving the transfer was a happy happenstance.

_I saw him._

**Wonderful! Did you speak to him?**

_I did. I'm his new partner._

**Does he know who you are?**

_No._

**Why not, dear?**

_I want to, but something's holding me back. And he's different now. We both are._

**Ginny, you know how he reacts when he finds out there's something he wasn't told.**

She snorted. That was for sure, although the things that had been held back from usually had to do with that snake-faced bastard and his minions' attempts to capture, torture, or kill him or his friends, so she could understand his anger. And she didn't want hide the truth from him, but she didn't want to set him off running.

_I don't know what to do. What if I tell him, and he runs, and it takes another decade to find him again._

**Ginny, dear, he isn't hiding now is he?**

_No, but he did. He ran and hid from us._

**Can you blame him?**

_No, I might have done the same thing, not that you would have let me._

**I don't think he'll run. You can only run so long.**

_But why didn't he come home?_

**Maybe he wanted to find out who he was besides being the boy who lived.**

_Maybe._

**So you'll tell him.**

_I will._

**When?**

_Soon._

**Don't leave it too long, dear. These things have a way of coming back on you if you wait too long.**

_I'll tell him soon, mum._

**I have to go, Ginny. Your father sends his love, as do I.**

_I love you too, mum. Give dad my love too._

**I will, dear. Take care, and be careful.**

_I will, mum. Talk to you later._

Ginny closed the journal as the words faded away, and tucked the journal back into its hiding place, with an absent note to make sure to pack it later. Not that she had much to pack, as she was still semi-packed from her trip over. Feeling the jetlag leeching her energy, as the low level of adrenaline wore off from see Harry again, under the guise of Fox William Mulder, special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, she decided she needed to turn in early. Dr. Dana Katherine Scully had a wake call at the ass-crack of dawn to answer.

 

* * *

 

Molly Weasely closed the journal, the handwriting of her daughter long faded. The reappearance of one Harry James Potter in the life of her youngest lifted a weight that she had held in her heart since she had last seen him.

He had approached her, the closest thing to a mother he had known, eyes full of pain, a hollow victory hanging in the air with the end of the war but the loss of so many friends and family, and the bodies of children strewn on the ground, one of her among them. He wanted to walk away, but he didn't want to never be found. She had gotten him to Kingsley, and sent him off with a heavy heart. It made her ache to see him suffering, the sweet boy who had approached her so tentatively for help, forced to grow up far too fast, and brought on by an agonizing legacy. Since she had learned his name, and of his friendship with her youngest son, she had counted him as one of her own. This made letting him walk away from their world so much harder, even if it was for the best.

She kept her silence in the wake of her daughter's search for him, hoping that he had would be healed by time and return to them, but the years had passed with no word, not even a whisper, and so the last time Ginny had questioned her, finally at the end of her rope, she had given in. If there was any chance of someone convincing him to come home, it would be Ginny, with Hermione a close second, and herself a strong third.

She walked over to the fireplace, clutched a handful of powder and tossed it in the flames, declaring her destination. She was told to hold on a moment, and Percy's head came through the flames.

"Yes, Mum?"

"Still at work so late?" she inquired.

His exhausted plain, he nodded. "No rest for the weary. What was it you needed?"

"I just wanted to thank you for helping your sister."

"I take it she found him then?"

"Oh, yes. Talked to him today, in fact. I hope it wasn't too difficult to get her in the door?"

"Not, as such no. Apparently, he finds trouble no matter what name he's under. Certain entities that are keeping an eye on him were looking to insert in agent of their own. I just had them steered towards Ginny's alias. I didn't like the look of the characters watching him; they have no one's best interest but their own. Ginny can watch his back."

"Until he comes home."

Percy sighed. "That may be a long time coming, Mum. The things he's involved are not to be dismissed lightly, and there are some who are more than eager to get him out of the way."

"What exactly is he involved in, Percy? What did you just send your sister into?" Her voice started to rise as anxiety gripped her.

Percy refrained from reminding her that he had done so at her behest. Despite comments otherwise from his siblings, he wasn't that thick. "She is exactly where she needs to be. If things get too dangerous, we can send in back-up to help them."

"Why can't you just get them out instead?"

"Because Harry is far too driven in his need to know anything that's being kept from him, and Ginny is too stubborn to leave without him. Short of kidnapping them, I don't see a way of talking them into leaving. And I don't fancy going wand to wand with the collective wrath of those two. I'd rather duel Voldemort."

"I see your point. But the first sign of trouble-"

"I will let you know, and send my best team. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish up work and head home for the night."

"You work far too much, Percy. You need to spend more time with your family."

"Which is why I'm here late tonight. We're leaving on holiday in a few days. Taking the family to Egypt, but we're going to avoid the pyramids."

"Good for you. Well, I won't keep you any longer. Good night, and give my love to everyone."

"I will, Mum. Good night." And with that his head disappeared from the flames.

Molly sighed, and toddled off to join her husband in bed. She only hoped Ginny and Harry didn't get into too much trouble.

 


	6. Chapter 5: Son of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we are post meeting and starting on their first case. Trouble never stays away for long...
> 
> ***
> 
> I apologize for my lack of updates in the last couple of months. Between finishing the end of the semester and finals, work, and moving, I severely lacked the time and energy to do anything but school work and unpacking. Hopefully I can get back to working on the stories and updating.

 

CH 5: Son of Man

 

Harry James Potter.

It was a name that had defined him his entire life, and one he hadn't answered to in over a decade. It was a name that had echoed in his head and had sat on the tip of his tongue when his new "partner" had said his alias and introduced herself. Whoever she was, she was a witch.

He didn't believe in coincidences, and having a witch assigned as his partner without any acknowledgement of any magical presence left him wary of the options he had left open. None of his charms had alerted him to anything suspicious about her. He was going to operate under the assumption that she was in disguise, like him. She felt familiar, but he didn't recognize her. It wasn't Polyjuice, so that left charms, and he conceded that there could be charms he didn't know and hadn't accounted for. Being self-taught from books could only carry him so far, despite what his pseudo-sister might have believed in the early part of their acquaintance.

If "Scully" was someone who knew who he really was, then he needed to be careful. He also needed to find out who she was, in case she was someone dangerous to him or in general. There were still Death Eaters at large that would love to have his head on their wall, not something that he had on his bucket list. If she was a friend, if she was...no. He cut off that thought. It wasn't her. If she was here, then she was an Auror like him, not flying Chaser for the Harpies like she should be. Then again if she was here, then he was in trouble. It wasn't often he had gotten on her bad side, but the times he had, well, she was her mother's daughter.

It was unlikely that anything was wrong; otherwise he would have been dragged home en masse, with little chance of dissuading them not to. He had to wonder though. Why now? The pieces of the puzzle to his identity were trusted above contestation. Why did he suddenly have company now?

He knew that he wouldn't have been called home to fight another war. The response from his friends and family against those who tried it would make the Battle of Hogwarts look like a water balloon fight. It wasn't something they would allow to be done to him again, Chosen One or not. Not that he felt particularly Chosen these days. His existence was basically ignored by all except for a few higher-ups; it was a novel experience for him to have had after his childhood.

He needed to come with some insider information on the good doctor, and he didn't think suddenly sending owl post would be a good start, how would he start that post, "Hey Ron, long time, no see. Say, your sister wouldn't happen to have come across the world to bat-bogey my ass back home, would she? Ta, Harry" or "Hey King, please tell me you didn't send my ex-girlfriend after me. If you did, I'll be coming home in a body bag. See you on the other side, Harry." Yeah, that would go over well. He'd get a Howler back from Hermione that could be heard on the western seaboard.

He'd work on the name first, see what he could dig up. Maybe pass it over to the Gunmen to see what they could scrounge up. He should probably avoid introducing them if it was that particular red-headed witch, for the sake of his sanity and his health. He needed a horde of Aurors descending on the guys to Obliviate them like he needed a hole in the head. He'd talk to them in the morning; he wanted to try to get some sleep, though he'd probably end up taking a nap on the plane, provided he got his own row.

 

* * *

 

 

Morning dawned, and Ginny was no closer to an answer than she had been the night before. It's not like she liked keeping secrets, especially not from him. She would just have to take it one day at a time. For now, she had to get ready to leave for the airport. In between getting dressed and drinking her coffee, she tucked the charmed journal in her carry-on, along with the case files that she'd need when they got there. As an afterthought, she grabbed a beaded clutch that Hermione had given her for a birthday a few years back, with an Undetectable Extending Charm, and put it in her bag as well. She might need to tuck something away on the sly.

Small talk was made in the car after her partner picked her up, and he handed her a plane ticket before they went through security. The wait was short, and the plane was relatively empty. They were seated separately, but close together. A layover at O'Hare, and the set-up was the same. She paged through the case files while he rested his eyes. Some slight turbulence jolted her, her mother's paranoia putting her on edge, which sparked a sardonic comment from her partner.

The initial entry into town with the car going haywire and her partner marking the spot with spray paint was starting to raise her hackles about this place. It was nowhere near any known magical schools for the area, so that discounted that theory. The exhumation and state of the body being investigated made her feel that she was on the verge of a precipice with no idea how close to the edge she was. The autopsy and results of testing left her disconcerted, despite "Mulder's" conveying doubts. Having grown up in the magical world meant that she was well-acquainted with extraordinary creatures that for most of the world lay in myth and legend, but at least they had terrestrial origins that could be traced. The possibility of what they were investigated not having roots in the planet on which she lived wasn't something she was going to entertain at this point, not without more evidence. Just because she knew where to find fantastic beasts didn't mean that it was the automatic solution for this case.

This just added to the war within. Trying to figure out how to approach Harry that didn't end in a shouting match or wizard's duel now that she wanted to re-introduce herself frustrated her. She hid her preoccupation during the exhumation of the body, the subsequent autopsy, and the initial interview at the psychiatric hospital the next day, but was jolted by the revelation of identical marks on the young woman that had been documented in the case file.

Things were getting stranger and stranger, even for a Hogwarts graduate. The revelations of the case that kept piling up only made her have to face the fact that she would have to reveal herself, and soon. Trust was important, it was everything. If he didn't trust her, then there would be no way that she could stay. She knew that a quick visit to talk to him and take him home would be impossible, that wasn't who he was. He had found a cause, one that he had chosen, and she could see that he was invested. There would be no prying him loose before he was finished, so her choices were to leave him behind or stay and help. And she wasn't one to walk away from a fight.

And one seems to be brewing between her and her new partner, much as she tries to prevent it. Her history fuels a need to avoid taking that leap of faith into the fantastic. Despite growing up in a world of magic, her experience in the Muggle world has grounded her, making her skeptical of anything that couldn't be attributed to science or magic as she knows it. It may be a binary system, but it is the only she had to go by, and not one she would easily give up. She could prove what is presented to her, whether the wave of a wand or a finished potion, or the splitting of the atom or the synthesis of a drug.

Her equilibrium had yet to be restored, and as they went trampling through the forest like a couple of hippogriffs, her sense of certainty of where this was all heading was vanishing into the fog that surrounded her. Her hackles were raised, and her wand kept hovering over her hidden and her holstered gun. Her confrontation with the detective hadn't helped, neither had the malfunctioning car. The last time she had lost time hadn't ended well, and so she was inclined to not perceive it as benevolent. As she updated her report, and the power went out, curtailing her efforts, she hoped that at least the hot water was still working. Shedding her bathrobe by candlelight only, she was confronted with two familiar marks on the small of her back.

'Fuck, not again.'

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the ability to use magic to do the dishes, especially on nights after a late day of work, Ron Weasely occasionally did them by hand. It was a way to clear his mind of distractions, and keep his hands busy. It also meant he could hand over the overwhelming task of putting their children to bed to his wife, much her consternation.

This simple chore gave him time to mull over his sister's crusade to find his wayward best friend. Hermione and he had left it alone in the beginning, both knowing that some time to himself could be just what Harry needed. But as the years went by, they had started talking about find the lost member of their triumvirate. Both had started making inquiries through their various avenues of influence, and thus far had made little progress. So he was happy when Ginny had come to them, and he knew that come Azkaban or high water, she would track him down.

Merely having his friend's alias wasn't enough, and for the most part all they could establish was that he wasn't within any wizarding ministry records globally. He had even reached out to Luna, in the hopes that one of her many odd friends might be able to make inquiries that might reach them, or that they could direct to Ginny. As it stood, he missed his mate, and he wanted him to come home. Despite some of their more tumultuous conflicts, they still managed to weather the storms together. He was thankful that the lives of his family and friends hadn't been overwhelmed with the chaotic trouble that had plagued the lot of him and his friends growing up, with most of it centering on Harry. He was a little suspicious that it was possible that trouble had followed the Boy Who Lived at his departure.

Hermione Granger-Weasley swept back into the kitchen slightly frazzled, but with an expectant look on her face. "They want you to go kiss them goodnight."

By this point, Ron had learned that little could be gained from arguing with his wife, not that he would in this instance. She moved to take over the dishes, beginning the process of drying off the plates and putting them away, as her husband went to finish tucking in their children.

She had seen the furrow of his brow, and knew that he was thinking about Harry and Ginny. The wispy form of Ginny's Patronus had silently galloped into the kitchen earlier, with only the message that she had found Harry. Glad as she was, it irked her to be left with so little information otherwise. Had Ginny made contact with him? Where was he, and where had he been all this time? What had kept him away for so long?

Having only one question answered opened the floodgates for even more, and it was all she could do to not send a Patronus message of her own demanding answers from either of them. However she was aware that some delicacy was needed, especially if her brother in all but blood had managed to get himself into his usual niche of trouble. Extracting him out before he had seen it to the end would prove troublesome, even for the best of them.

For now she could only hope that they were both safe, and that they had managed to not Stupefy each other at this point, between their two tempers. No doubt upon being fully reacquainted with each other, and argument would arise, and property damage might be somewhat heavy.

Pulled out of her thoughts by the scuff of her husband's feet on the floor alerting her of his return, she turned and looked at him. A connection of eyes that meant that no further discussion was really needed on either of their parts as to the subject that they had both had their minds tangled up with. Now it would be just a waiting game for more information, much as they may want to go hunt down their wayward family themselves. Now, time would tell what trouble might come.

 


	7. Chapter 6: The Telling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We come to the end of Harry and Ginny, I mean Mulder and Scully's first case together.
> 
> Again, long time between updates. Juggling life is never easy. I'm sorry I let it go so long. I'm trying to do better.

CH 6: The Telling

 

          Harry held the phone in his hand. The abrupt cut off from his conversation with the Lone Gunmen coinciding with the blackout left him with a slightly curious feeling, as if fate was once again playing its hand in his life. It reminded him of conversations with Hagrid when he was younger and him and his friends were trying to solve their latest disastrous mystery. Hagrid would spill that one piece of information that they would need, just enough to get them back on track, just enough to make them dangerous to themselves. This felt like one of those times, where he was starting to see the edge of the cliff, but wasn’t in danger of falling off.

          Yet.

          From what the Gunmen could find out, his new partner’s identity looked fairly straight forward, but there was still alarm bells going off in his head. The guys’ comment that her file was as solid as his own made him inclined to be skeptical of her story. Given where he originated from, he couldn’t dismiss their meeting as coincidence.

          Especially after the guys had informed him that someone was making inquiries about, or at least his alias. They had been contacted by another associate of theirs, who happened to live in the United Kingdom and was as interested in the weird and strange as they thought he was.

          The information dredged up on one ‘Dana Scully’ gave him pause. Similarities between familial relation of his partner and another redhead that he, at rare times incurred the wrath of, could discount for the commonality of some of the names. It still felt like a test, and raised his suspicions of her identity. He wouldn’t risk revealing himself unless he knew for sure that she was someone he could trust. She would just have to come to him.

          The knock at his motel room door could only make him quirk an eyebrow at the universe’s sense of timing. He lit a candle and carried it with him to the door to answer. His mysterious partner stood at his door with a stricken look of panic on her face. She asked him to look at something, and he welcomed her into his room, taken aback slightly when she dropped the bathrobe she had been wearing, and turned her back towards him. He examined her, slightly amused by the anxiety in her voice when she questioned the object of his observation. He labeled them mosquito bites, and watched the tension leave her body as she wrapped herself once more in her robe. The hug from her was sudden and unexpected. He let himself temporarily revel in the familiarity of her embrace, cementing his conclusions about her identity.

          A short time later found them both resting comfortable, with him on the floor leaning against the bed, and her laying on it. He spun a tale created for his cover, the mysterious loss of a sister by possible non-earthly means. Knowing that the best lies build on truth, he included his time in college, and his eventually recruitment by the FBI.

          His story was interrupted by the ringing phone, letting him know that at least communications were back, and he answered. The call was brief, the caller unknown. He hung up to relay the information he had received, and the unfortunate turn in their investigation.

 

* * *

 

          The last thing she needed was to be possessed again, controlled by an entity unseen to her, and even more difficult to defeat their influence over. The possible repeat of history alarmed her, causing her to act on instinct to seek out the one who had saved her last time, the only ally she could trust. The hug was as much as a surprise to her as it was to him; it had been instinct to do it, to take momentary comfort in someone that she trusted so much.

            The story that he told her, on some level felt true enough for him, and yet because she knew him, she could still feel the lies, the parts that were spoken by rote, they had been repeated so much. But most of all, she could see the loss of identity that he was still recovering from, rebuilding himself into to something that he could look into the mirror and meet his own eyes.

            She was proud of the man he had become, the thirst for truth that had often driven him in a world that hid so much. She couldn’t hide from him anymore, she had to tell. She mentally prepared herself for the coming confrontation, and started to say something. The phone ringing beat her to the punch.

            The revelation from the anonymous call of the death of Peggy O’Dell, one of the teens they had tried question spurred them to action, with her returning to her room to quickly redress, and meet him by the car. The news that greeted them and lack of answers annoyed her, and she could see an even greater aggravation in Harry’s body language. She found out the corpse she had examined was missing and the lab had been trashed. The subsequent return to their motel saw them greeted by firemen and police, as flames devoured the building.

            They encountered the daughter of the medical examiner hindering them, whom they took to a diner to speak with, only to be interrupted by the girl’s father and the father of the comatose boy. With one body missing, they were left to wonder what might be contained in the graves of the other teens that had died mysteriously. Their grave digging bore little fruit except empty caskets.

            Ginny had to admit that her partner’s theory was farfetched, bordering on ludicrous. She tagged along out sheer curiosity of him attempting to prove himself right. With nowhere else to go but back to the hospital, Harry’s theory had some startling evidence, when she found that the specimen of earth that she had carried in her pockets matched the residue on the bottom of the comatose boy’s feet. Billy Miles, essentially a vegetable, had killed Peggy O’Dell. As much as she had tried to remain skeptical and verbalized her rationalizations as a scientist, the witch side of her compared it to the Unforgivable Imperius. The boy was in a conscious state, but had no will of his own or control. What is someone under that spell but a walking body, a living zombie that has no choice to be the puppet on strings, controlled by his master? Except that the reach of this puppet master might reach between planets, and that was a sobering thought.

            She and Harry found themselves once more in the forest in a stand-off with Billy’s father, where she incurred a head injury, courtesy of Mr. Miles. She got separated, and was only able to find her way due to a bright light that had no source that she could discern. The sight of a conscious and mobile Billy, with Theresa Hoese marked the end of their forest adventure.

            Testimony was recorded, and what little evidence remained was turned over. She was frustrated with the lack, but glad that the case was over. Except that it wasn’t, and their evidence had vanished into thin air. She was glad to remain on her assignment, but was starting to feel the inkling of just what kind of forces were set against her and her partner. It was unsettling, to say the least. Now her next greatest obstacle was disclosing the truth of her identity to her partner.

 

* * *

 

            They were excited.

            It wasn’t often that they thought that they might get some impending validation for all their hard work and paranoia. But they could almost feel it coming for them. And they couldn’t wait.

            They had been only been able to convey the bare bones of their investigation into their friend’s new partner. Frohike and Langly’s habit of interrupting each other was a longstanding tradition at this point, and conversations usually needed to be steered back on point by Byers. However, they hadn’t managed to convey the other piece of interesting information that they had before the phone call had been cut off.

            Langly was adamant about the interruption being deliberate, despite Frohike opposing him with the affected area’s weather report, which Langly’s weak rebuttal of using the weather as a cover for something else wasn’t outside the realm of plausibility.

            They had gotten it from one of their contacts across the Pond, who happened to also run a periodical similar to their own that she had taken over for her father, that inquiries were being about their favorite FBI agent. They would have to wait until one Fox Mulder returned home. Considering all the surveillance done by the government, who know who was listening to their communications? No, this was best left to be done face to face.

            Until then, the Lone Gunmen had work to do, and right now that included proofreading their British associate’s articles, as part of a global exchange of information. Langly had been given one about a mythical creature sighting whose name he had given up trying to pronounce. Frohike had an article about remnants of an extremist group that seem to have a medieval fetish that had been spotted in the US. And Byers had an article about the downfall of the Bloodfang Conspiracy.

            All in a day’s work.

 


End file.
